auntie's boy (give us this night)
by Younger Dr. Grey
Summary: post-finale, Micah sees a string of tweets about #NovaBordelon and her night out on the town. He honestly can't text her quick enough.
1. Chapter 1

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 **notes:** Micah links this fic to my other post-finale fic, finding the ounces, which follows Charley through the rest of her night

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Micah honestly spends most of his nights online. He watches youtube videos, scans a few articles about his dad, and basically burns time until he can knock out for the night. It's not super glamorous, but it gets him through the quiet nights at Violet's since Hollywood isn't around anymore. With Ralph Angel and Blue at Grandpa Ernest's place now, the whole house is just him, his mom, and Aunt Vi. Not really a lot of quality company there for a kid that wants to have a good time. No offense to either of them.

Keke helps. Messaging her, calling her, keeping himself occupied with someone who's so… he doesn't know, different? She grew up down here in the South. She's got these customs and a whole separate way of understanding how people interact. Like, how he needed to meet her dad if he wanted to date her, but she was still really independent and forward with everything she wanted. Stella played a lot of games when it came to dating her, and it's nice to not have to deal with that. To be with someone who would tell him exactly what she wanted and when she wanted it. If she wasn't happy, she'd tell him, and he definitely wouldn't have to worry about her cheating on him.

Plus, she sent him messages sometimes about his family. Cool articles about Nova, or think pieces on his mom and dad. His phone jumps up with a new shared tweet. He clicks, already smiling at whatever new dumb meme or vine she's got for him. Only, it's not something fun this time.

 **BLMdontplay — ** I'm out tonight right & tell me who I see getting her swirl on? #NovaBordelon #notmadatya  
 **— **BLMdontplay **** she and her boo are the bar. real cute but idk I wanted more from her  
 **— **BLMdontplay **** FUUUUUUCK, some other white dude snatched his hand back from her  
 **— ** BLMdontplay ****hE JUST GRABBED HER ASS! WTF I'M FIGHTING  
 **— ** BLMdontplay ****SECURTIY IS COMING! HE FUCKING SPAT IN HER FACE  
 **— ** BLMdontplay ****NOVA BAIL ME OUT LIKE YOU DID TOO SWEET. I'M JUMPING IN  
 **— ** BLMdontplay ****jk I'm not but I will be getting his badge number later. his wife is right here too  
 **— ** BLMdontplay ****somebody else posted the video. watch it #staywoke

Micah leaves the thread without clicking on the video. He doesn't need to see whatever some dude did to his aunt. He needs to know she's okay.

 **Micah to Keke, 9:12p  
** / Fuck  
/ what the fUCK  
/ Is this serious?

 **Keke to Micah, 9:13p  
** / I think so. Is she okay?

 **Micah to Keke, 9:14p  
** / idk, let me see

He clicks over to his chat with Nova. She hasn't said anything to him, but maybe that's because he's a kid. Or maybe she's not telling anyone. If this really happened, she's probably still processing. The tweets are barely an hour old.

 **Micah to Nova (Aunt), 9:15p  
** / Hey, you okay?

 **Nova (Aunt) to Micah, 9:16p  
** / Always. What's up baby?

Maybe the fact that some guy thought it was a good idea to attack her in a bar? God, his mom does the same thing; she channels everything that she's worrying about into fixing him rather than confronting what's happening with her. He knows that he can thank his mom for Davis coming down. Which — whatever, it's not the time to think about that. This is important. Though, maybe he could work up to the important part.

 **Micah to Nova (Aunt), 9:18p  
** / Nothing, just wanted to talk. My dad's in town right now. You'd be proud. I told him off and said everything I needed to say. and Mom's not falling for anything he's trying either. I don't even think it's about Remy or whatever's happening there. Mom looked so done with him. you wouldn't believe.

 **Nova (Aunt) to Micah, 9:19p  
/**/ With Remy or your dad?

He rolls his eyes.

 **Micah to Nova (Aunt), 9:20p  
** / Dad. She had him eating out of her hand and signing his life over to here  
/ but anyway that's what's happening over here. how are you really?

 **Nova (Aunt) to Micah, 9:22p  
** / I'm fine, Micah  
/ you know, if you're bored you could use that number I gave you for Too Sweet. it'd do you good to keep a friend like that

 **Micah to Nova (Aunt), 9:23p  
** / Do you have friends like that?

 **Nova (Aunt) to Micah, 9:24p  
** / Some of them

Micah doesn't know if Nova has friends to be honest. It seems like she mostly has co-workers, or brothers and sisters within the movement who can act like friends when the time calls for it but ultimately aren't around when something else does down. Who does she turn to for stuff like this? Probably not his mom, or his mom wouldn't still be here at Vi's. Honestly, if she knew, Charley'd probably be tracking down the cop and making sure he's charged for assault tonight with or without Nova's consent.

But that might not be what Nova needs. Nova holds pretty much everything in, so maybe she just needs to talk about it. She works better in person than over messages — something about being able to feel the person and their energy, he doesn't get it, but he knows that if he could just get to her, then he could help her.

He could try using her need for projection against her. Not technically against her, but to his advantage. Pretend that he needs help so he can help her?

 **Micah to Nova (Aunt), 9:26p  
** / You're right. I am bored, and restless too. my mom keeps staring at her computer, but she won't move. I need to get out

 **Nova (Aunt) to Micah, 9:27p  
** / I'm not really up to going anywhere right now

 **Micah to Nova (Aunt), 9:28p  
** / why not?

 **Nova (Aunt) to Micah, 9:29p  
** / You have something to say, Micah?

He can hear her judgment through the phone so he sighs and types up the truth.

 **Micah to Nova (Aunt), 9:31p  
** / Keke found tweets about tonight. They said you were out and some cop got all over you. Now I know you just see me as a kid, but I want to help you.

 **Nova (Aunt) to Micah, 9:32p  
** / Does your mama know?

That's not an answer but okay.

 **Micah to Nova (Aunt), 9:32p  
** / Not yet

 **Nova (Aunt) to Micah, 9:33p  
** / Good. Keep it that way. She's got enough to worry about.

 **Micah to Nova (Aunt), 9:34p  
** / So does that mean I get to worry about you?

 **Nova (Aunt) to Micah, 9:35p  
** / Worry about whatever you want, boy  
/ and I am proud of you for standing up to your dad btw

His chest warms up, and he grins. His mom hadn't said anything after he'd told off his dad, which is basically the closest he could get to her agreeing with him about any of this. If she didn't agree, she would've told him off. She would've reiterated that his dad loved him and cared about him, just not enough since he paid for hookers and left them all looking stupid to the whole of the world when he got called out on it. If his mom hadn't agreed, then she would've told Micah that he needed to hear his dad out and that nothing would ever change and that his dad would always be his dad so he should learn to accept that. He should work on forgiving him eventually, even if it takes some time. Even if forgiving his dad means accepting that his dad doesn't love his mom, who is without a doubt one of the best people on this planet. His mom is —

not the focus right now. He'd zoned out long enough for Nova to keep on talking.

 **Nova (Aunt) to Micah, 9:37p  
** / and I'll be okay. You do this work long enough and nothing fazes you.

He scoffs, honest to God. They should be on the phone because he knows she couldn't've said that sounding as sure as her text might make it seem. There's a lot you can handle and take in when it comes to micro and actual aggressions, but having someone spit in your face? Ultimate disrespect. How do you ever feel clean after that? Seriously?

 **Micah to Nova (Aunt), 9:39p  
** / All due respect, Aunt Nova, but you won't leave the house so I'm guessing this actually did faze you. This doesn't sound like it was about the work either. It sounds like it was a date interrupted

 **Nova (Aunt) to Micah, 9:40p  
** / aren't you clever?

 **Micah to Nova (Aunt), 9:41p  
** / Nova please

He can practically hear her sigh through the start of her next text. Pictures her drumming on the empty text bar, debating whether or not to actually open to him.

 **Nova (Aunt) to Micah, 9:42p  
** / It helps that you care, Micah. For now, that's gonna have to be enough

 **Micah to Nova (Aunt), 9:43p  
** / No.

He hits send before he spends much time thinking about it. That can't be enough, not when there's something he can do. He's not some kid on the other side of the country anymore.

Before he and his mom moved out here, he talked to his family during annual trips down to check on Grandpa Ernest and the farm. He only read about his aunt, and no one talked much about Ralph Angel while he was locked up. Now, he's got this whole network of people who catch everything. They catch changes in his mood from how short his breaths are, or if he leaves a dish in the sink longer than he normally would. Nova laughs with him like no adult in his life ever has. Not in that fake way that the managers did, or in that way the guys on the team did like they couldn't wait to bring him into the fold and have him decked out in Warriors gear too. Nova actually hears him when he talks, and she and his mom are just now finally getting to a place where they don't fight every two seconds. He's not risking any of their progress as a family on some rude dude at a bar.

He's got his dad's card information. He can take a car over to the Ninth, then just hang out with her until she can leech off his energy and feel appreciated by the universe or whatever. She can know he's here for her.

 **Micah to Nova (Aunt), 9:45p  
** / Yeah no  
/ What if I can get over there? We don't even have to talk. We can just sit around and stare out your giant windows and feel the breeze and you won't have to be alone when you're sad. You're always there for everyone else. I want someone to be there for you.

He clicks over to his Lyft and Uber apps after he's sent it. Wait time's at about twenty minutes, which gives him just enough time to tell his mom about his plans. He could probably hear about hers too, if she's done being secretive about this mill deal she's working on. He's pretty sure he's not supposed to know about that, but honestly he knows about a lot that goes on around here. People aren't that quiet. No one expects him to be listening either. But he is. He might not be the most out there, but he's a part of this family too.

 **Nova (Aunt) to Micah, 9:47p  
** / Your mama raised you real right.  
/ Okay, if you can get over here SAFELY without alerting the family, then you can come keep me company

He claps his hands. Texts her back before she can change her mind and hits the button to officially call for a ride.

 **Micah to Nova (Aunt), 9:48p  
** / I'll see you asap  
/ Fire up some tea?

That ought to get her smiling again. Hold her over until he gets there.

 **Nova (Aunt) to Micah, 9:49p  
** / You don't fire up tea. I swear, you LA boys

 **Micah to Nova (Aunt), 9:49p  
** / :P

 **Nova (Aunt) to Micah, 9:50p  
** / 3 3 3  
/ auntie's boy

He rolls his eyes.

 **Micah to Nova (Aunt), 9:50p  
** / you wish  
/ (but yeah I guess)

 **Nova (Aunt) to Micah, 9:51p  
** / I'm screenshotting that by the way. Gonna make it my wallpaper. Show it to Charley in petty arguments

He wants to laugh, but honestly he wouldn't put it past either of them to bring him into their drama. If they have more drama. They're getting better. This is his part in it. Now he just needs to actually convince his mom to let him go out. How hard can that be? A smile, a well-timed joke, and she'll be putty in his hands. That's the thing about his mom, Nova too — they might act tough, might scare grown men ninety percent of the time, but they're big softies underneath it all. Vulnerable, fallible, and, as he's learning more and more every day, human.

 **Micah to Nova (Aunt), 9:52p  
** / be there soon

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	2. Chapter 2

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 **part two**

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Typing makes it better. Not just writing, because Nova tried taking a pen to her notepad when she first got back into the house. The pen couldn't move quick enough; the scratching set her skin aflame along the same lines that that man's spit (spit, spit, shit) had seared down her face; the ink pooled on the page when she stopped moving it, finally stopped pretending this helped. And not just tapping away on her phone either, because she had a memo that she started in Calvin's car that had only six words in it before she'd killed her screen and stuffed the phone back in her bag.

No, the most helpful thing right now is the feel of her keyboard beneath her fingers and that click that means that somehow, somewhere these words are getting out there. They're leaving her, separating her from this existence and this experience. Then she isn't just a person who got spat on anymore; she's some other person, some separate entity who could be slipped on by any reader and then folded away into some link that'd eventually fade in their internet history.

She couldn't quite talk, not yet. Couldn't bring herself to do much more that required opening her mouth since every time she did, she imagined the spit dripping onto her lips, snaking down cracks and into her own throat, running along her tongue and blocking her airways. She couldn't swallow when she thought of it, just like how she couldn't really close her eyes without imagining his spit staying on them, clinging to her eyelashes, coating every fiber and every cell of her face before sinking down and permeating the rest of her.

She types, Nothing really prepares you for something like this. But those words aren't enough. She adds, Not a damn thing in this world can make it any easier to have another person's backwash coating your face. That warmth, the heft of it — spit isn't just water, you know? You know there's more bacteria in the mouth than most places in the body? Have any idea how many diseases can transfer through someone's spit? There's people in this world worth getting infected over, but him? That entitled jackass at the bar? Not worth it.

That entitled jackass meaning Bruce Benson, Calvin's brother in blue. She could laugh. She would if it didn't put her close to crying again. Pain needed to be felt, and emotions needed to acknowledged, nourished, and sent on their way. All that being said, her nephew's coming over and she's not going to be a damn mess when he does. That's not who she is. She might not be perfect, but she is put together. She is strong enough to handle this and find her way back through. However that happens. Just, preferably, on a faster schedule than the one she's currently on.

But like she said, nothing prepared her for this.

She heads back up to the top of the word document and titles it, **Drunken Cop Assaults Celebrated NOLA Journalist.** Deletes and retitles with **Disgruntled Officer Physically Confronts BLM Activist**. Tries out **Entitled Angry White Guy Takes Out His Frustrations on Happy Black Woman** with a subtitle of **what else is new**. But none of that helps. Labels never quite do in her experience. Sure, they make things easier to digest, easier for the common person to see what's in front of them and make pre-conceived notions on how to handle the situation. But tell her again how that makes this easier? Does knowing all that help because she can keep going.

 **Celebrated Journalist and BLM Activist Confronted by Recently-Separated Boyfriend's Co-Worker on First Public Date to Disgusting Results - More on Page 5.**

 **Cop's Black Mistress Takes On Other Officer and Loses More Than Just Her Dignity.**

Wait, the first part's right, but maybe it should be more like: **Disgraced Cop's Black Mistress Fights His Fellow Officer as His Wife Watches**. There she goes, she's got to frame the full picture as they'll see it, include Bruce Benson's wife so they know what a tragedy this whole night truly was for that family. Nevermind her, at home, alone and clicking away after crying into the shirt of the boyfriend she wouldn't even let inside the house. Even the term, boyfriend, might be reaching a little far (and not far enough at the same time. Calvin has to be more than a boyfriend at this point, more than a light moniker if they're coming back to this, falling back into this. Because this is a fall, a drop, a ditch, a dive into the pits of the ocean without a mask, a light, or any sense of what's waiting. She probably should've stayed safe on the shore. Fuck. Metaphors. Shit ass metaphors, as if calling their relationship an ocean will make this any better, as if picturing herself surrounded by endless flowing energy will negate all the muck building up inside of her.)

Her phone buzzes.

 **From Calvin to Nova, 10:43p  
** / Just tell me this isn't the end for us.

She kills the screen and turns back to her word doc. Stares at the cursor blinking back at her, times her own eyelids to the seconds it disappears until the whole world is a blur. Then she just holds her eyes closed. Wills them to stay that way and wills that calm to spread to the rest of her. She was fine. She is fine. Nothing anyone else can do can shake her to her core. She's gotten through deaths and hurricanes and hacking up her own roof to make damn sure she wouldn't drown in the home she'd made for herself. This will not break her. (But that doesn't mean it won't hurt. Won't wound and splinter and scorch the rest of her skin as dark as her elbows. Doesn't mean it won't chafe, won't send her reaching for any sort of balm that can cover this over and smooth it out until it's all unrecognizable and familiar. Doesn't mean she has to let it go.)

Time must pass because next thing she knows, Micah's texting her that he's on the way up and to get the door for him. She minimizes the document without saving and slips from her seat to greet him. Her bare feet curl a bit along the carpet, tucking inwards with each step. A chill stays with her, despite the holed sweater she'd slipped on for warmth and the mountain of locs pooled above her head. She knows it'll dissipate. It'll fade once her face feels normal again, once the skin of her thighs stops randomly flaring with the heat of Bruce Benson's intrusive touch. Her pants help with that one, a bit of an out of sight out of mind, cover the skin and begin again. She could've worn pants tonight; that could've at least kept Bruce Benson from actually touching her skin. But she'd wanted to feel the lights against her thighs, wanted the scratch and slide of Calvin's pants against her knees, wanted the rush of the wind all around as she celebrated being this free with this man. But, hell to what she wanted right.

Micah's footsteps bound up and across her little porch. She tugs the door open, and this boy — this young man with eyes so wide she'd swear he could see the whole of the world between each blink — goes almost concave at the sight of her. His breath hitches, and all of that bravado from his text messages fades into a quirk of his lips up to greet her.

"Hey, Nova."

She pulls him into a hug, lets a different sort of warmth glaze over the other stuff. His arms wrap tight around her like he wants to squeeze every bit of joy back into her. She finds herself laughing, and his whole back relaxes at the feeling.

"Come on then." She lets him go, gives a little shove so he'll head from the door. He makes his way to the couch, which gives her about five seconds left to herself. Five to breathe out everything inside of her and grab hold of the strength she needs to keep herself together. Micah might want to help, but no one likes to see their heroes cry.

He plops down on the couch. She turns in time to catch his eyes on her, his furrowed brows and slightly puckered lips. She nearly tells him he's gonna hurt himself thinking so hard, but he clears the expression once she can see him. He offers another smile. Reaches for his backpack beside him and unzips it to pull out his laptop.

"I've had a lot of time to think since my uber driver was pretty awful," and he laughs as he says it so she doesn't worry too much about what that means, "so I'm thinking we should watch something. Did you ever see the show I told you about?"

She rolls her eyes. "Which one? I swear all you do is watch Netflix."

"Hey, I have a lot of free time. Truant student over here." He signs in, and Netflix is already open in his browser. Nova slides up next to him on the couch. He shuffles through his list until landing on The Get Down. "This one's all early hip hop, centered on black and brown kids in the Bronx, so I figure if you're going to enjoy something, this should be it."

"You saying I only like black media?" She tries giving him one of those Charley looks — those how could you offend me by even deigning to think that I am what you say I am kind of looks with the raised brows and intense eye contact. It must work because he shrinks into his shoulders and chuckles deep enough that his cheekbones soar.

"I'm saying it's solid. Plus, Jaden Smith's in it, and I gotta support my friends." He says it so casually.

She mocks, "Oh, you're friends now."

"We are friends. What are you saying — just, shush, watch." He hits play and sinks back into the couch with his laptop balanced on his knees. She has to stay close to see it perfectly, which works out just fine, gives her a solid excuse for cushioning herself between his shoulder and the back of the couch. He shifts so his back's against her, and the kid might just know something about silent comfort after all. Snuggling against him to the early sounds of these adorable nerds — rolling her eyes at the stylistic choices as he insists, "It's only the first episode that's this etxra, I swear. Just focus on them. Everyone in this show's great."

So she focuses. She loses herself to Zeke's unfiltered love for Mylene, for his metaphors and endless lines of poetry that Mylene swoons at before swooping off to follow her own dreams. She laughs at every kickflip and unnecessary leap that Shaolin Fantastic does. She hums to the music. But most of all, for the hour that the pilot plays before her, she has something else to think about than herself, and all that cold, all that slithering dirtiness that came from Bruce Benson's decisions tonight, found somewhere else to go. Probably furrowed deeper inside of her, moved solely to the mind and soul of her, but at least they moved. At least she gets to relax a bit.

Then the episode ends, and Micah's hand hovers over the space bar before he clicks it, stopping the auto-play and plunging the both of them into silence. He seems to doubt it — he holds his hand there a few more seconds before leaning back against her again.

He says, soft like he doesn't want to disturb the ease they've had around them, "I don't know if this is helping, or just hiding away from what happened tonight."

She mulls her word in her mouth. "Both." Then nudges him with her head to the side of his. "Doesn't have to be mutually exclusive."

"I'm just not good at being the one who helps people. Mom never shows it when she's upset. She just gets more intense, more focused, and usually that just means I duck out of the way and watch everyone cower. And Dad always went to Mom with his problems. I haven't really had to be there for people that much before."

But he wants to be. Her smile grows, and it's probably a good thing that the screen isn't all black so he doesn't call her goofy, or sentimental. There's a lot that can be said about Micah and Charley, about their privileged life over in glass mansions in LA, but beyond it all, they just want to be on everyone else's level. They want that ease that they feel should come natural, and it took coming down here to realize that they've got to cultivate these skills. They've got to put in the time and the effort to build these connections and nurture them into the ones that they want. And look at this baby trying.

Nova rests her head on his. Tells herself to leave it there so she doesn't have to look right into his face. "You're doing a pretty good job just being here. Sometimes, that's all people need. Someone to be around and to show that they care." Someone who won't run off if they get too emotional, or have to rush back to another life that doesn't include her. Someone who can fully be there, for more than just secret moments, for everything. She wants everything.

Honestly, how absolutely… how fucking ridiculous is it that she can't have everything with this man she's committed so much of her life to? Calvin had never been meant to be a commitment. He was right about that in their last fight — she'd wanted company, not a permanent relationship. But he'd crept up on her, wrapped himself around her enough times that she started to expect to have him around. He'd prayed at her body, for her body, and with each request, she fell deeper into what was meant to be a throw away moment. A one off special that never got folded into the rest of the series. An article unpublished yet drafted and waiting on a desk in case anyone cared to look it over. But then… she doesn't quite know. A moment passed, and she knew that he couldn't leave his wife when he had young kids that wouldn't understand and a whole police force that would either villify him or bolster him up with yet another blemish on their pristine records in protecting and serving their communities. He hadn't known how to say that he wanted only Nova but no other changes in his life. So she'd told him not to say it, not to make this anymore than it needed to be. Her house was a safe space for all, and that could include him — them, this — and he should work on separating on his own terms, eventually, for both he and his wife.

"It took him years to leave her." Nova barely talks above a whisper, barely puts more than the energy needed to make these words real to someone other than herself. "Calvin — that's his name, Calvin — he didn't seek this out, necessarily. But once we started, there wasn't much either of us wanted to do to stop it. Not when this felt right, even with all the other stuff lurking out there. So we kept it quiet, kept it between us, until it became too much. With Too Sweet and everything. Calvin couldn't understand why I had to write about it, why I needed to save him and expose this system that villifies and destroys our children before they even have a chance to grow. So I told him to leave his key, and he threw it down on his way out."

She'd left it there for a day or two. Didn't want to touch it or claim it or anything else. But after a few days, she could feel it. Feel the weight of the key, and it was like all the light in the room got sucked up by it. So she put that and the framed picture of him into the bedside table and put all of herself into saving Too Sweet and keeping Charley and RA from killing each other over this farm. She gave herself to the family that needed her rather than to someone who could never understand. Only, he understands now, doesn't he? He dropped the fake charges, he left his wife, so Calvin understands what she needs from him if this is going to happen again. He understands that he has to actively confront the system he benefits from and lives in. He understands that this work isn't just work for her because her personal life has always been political and under attack within this society. He understands that to love her means to love and protect all the people that look and live just like her. Doesn't he?

The thing is, if he understands, then he has to fight for this. If he understands, then he has to march in to that precinct and tell Bruce Benson that he cannot lay his hands on any woman, no matter who they are or what they write, and if he does so again, he will be charged with assault and will be persecuted to the highest extent they can get in a flawed system already beholden to him. If Calvin understands who she is and what she does and what she needs, then why did he leave in the first place? Why didn't he fight for her when she first asked? When she broke down, losing hope after her father passed, watching everything around her turn to absolute shit and knowing that the people who needed her most didn't have time for what troubled her — where was he then? And why even come back? Why now?

Micah shifts his head. Nova's breath hitches.

He asks, "Where'd you go?"

"Everywhere." They can't turn the show back on now, can they? Can't hide away again now that she's started thinking about it all. She loves Calvin, but how much shit does she have to dredge through to be able to enjoy that? "D'you know this was our first real date, out in public? With no ducking deep into the city or the country so that no one could see us together and blow the whole rouse." Her lips tuck away, and she pulls her feet up under the rest of her to stave off the cold setting in. "But I guess they ain't ready."

"Are you?" Micah pulls away enough to glance back at her. His eyebrows hood over his full moon eyes, and his jaw sets between questions. "For everything that being with this guy is gonna do. Are you ready? Do you want this?"

She thought she was ready. She'd leapt into Calvin's arms, and she'd shimmied his tie off from around his neck, and she'd radiated a full-bodied light for the first time in a long time. She'd felt full. And she's wanted this since she first woke up beside him, to the sunlight coaxing the life out of dust particles and her locs looped in and around themselves and around the fingers he'd left there for safe keeping. Her chest had expanded so wide that she found herself choking on the space inside herself. He'd woken up to the sound she made, and his eyes flurried from fear to alert to at ease, and his ease steadied the cavern growing without her okay. His peace gave her what she needed to furrow her face back into her pillow and swallow down the need to ask the time, to acknowledge the rest of the world waiting for them. He'd rolled her onto his chest then, peppered pecks and nicks along her neck, and he hadn't made a single promise aloud to have more mornings like this, which made her want them all the more. Need them. Cherish them.

But all that don't mean she's ready. Then again, maybe this is a lot like staring at the face of Bruce Benson — the fire where there used to be just warmth, the loud bark of words aimed at the whole world — once that sensation settles in at the sight of his jaw working and Adam's apple bobbing, just no way to be ready, just gotta hold your breath and see what happens when the mouth of the beast opens wide.

Nova closes her eyes, asks, "Does it matter?"

Micah tells her, firmer than he's been all night, "It should."

She reaches around to bring him back into their hug. Leeches a bit of that assurance out of him. "Then I'll get back to you. Maybe after another episode?"

He hesitates, but ultimately, he hits the space bar again. "Fine. But only 'cause you're sad."

She laughs, and the humor tastes a little stale in her mouth. "You don't mention the sad."

"Then how do we fight it? Come on, Nova, that makes no sense." His humor's still in tact, still in the tilt of his lips as he dramatically rolls his eyes to break the tension in the air. "Maybe you don't know how this works."

"I'm the queen at this. I wrote the book on this. You forget I'm a healer?"

He shakes his head. "Didn't forget. Just wanted to remind you." He reaches over to rewind over the part they just talked over, which gives enough silence for what he wants to say. "I'm the support, you're the one working through it. You'll be fine."

She full on hugs the boy now. The shake him in your arms kind of hug, the make little sounds that have to be loud to cover the fact that he starts whining kind of hug, the nearly knock over his laptop kind of hug. She smacks a big kiss on his cheek when she lets him go. Tells him, "Don't tell anybody else, but you might just be my favorite."

He beams at her and doesn't even reach to wipe his cheek. "Yeah, okay, you're my favorite too." Then his eyes go wide and he says, "I swear, if you tell my mom I said that, I'm taking it back and swearing I was never here."

They have to rewind another time, but it's worth it. Better go back on the episode than go back on the moment. "Alright, let's see what Zeke does next."

.

.


End file.
